Freefall
by FourthEchelon19
Summary: Many secrets remain hidden in the galaxy. Discovering them may have unexpected consequences... Or great rewards. An ONI-led UNSC expeditionary taskforce aboard an experimental flagship discovers an ancient Forerunner installation. In an attempt to probe its secrets, a ground recon team is deployed to its surface, only to encounter an unexpected foe.
1. Chapter 1: Acquired

**Chapter 1: Acquired**

**Sydney, Earth, January 18, 2558 13:22**

STEPPING out of the transport, the USNC naval officer felt a tightening in his chest and a jump in his heart rate. He was fairly certain that the microscopic layer of sweat beading on his palms and forehead had more to do with nervous agitation than it did with the blistering heat outdoors, although the latter was undoubtedly a factor. Here in Sydney, January was technically the middle of summer; consequently, the outdoor temperatures were exceptionally warm. However, the officer barely noticed the solar radiation baking the back of his neck and reflecting off of the asphalt onto his face as he walked towards the unassuming, low-slung building marked "UNSC B6 SECURE GATE", surrounded by other similarly featureless structures in the low-rise urban sprawl outside of the city center. He was too preoccupied with both concern for his career and life.

It was an open secret locally that this otherwise unremarkable warehouse was one of several secure, classified side entrances to Bravo-6, the underground location of FLEETCOM headquarters and currently the center of power for the entire United Nations Space Command. Mid-level Fleet officers on active duty were _never_ summoned here unless they were either being court-martialed, sent on suicide missions, or being honored in a big way. Right now, the officer wasn't at all sure which of those reasons he was here for, if any. Being sent in the back door wasn't helping matters any.

He nervously brushed a hand through his dark brown hair, trying to will away the jitters he felt all too clearly. He couldn't think of any offences on his record that could have warranted his being summoned here- he was fairly certain he'd know- but that didn't mean anything if the brass in charge thought otherwise.

Outside the front door, he presented his ID to the pair of heavily armored MPs on duty. The older of the two, a short and weathered-looking Staff Sergeant with a name patch reading Kaufmann, swiped the ID card over the datapad in his hand and grimaced.

"Summons from HIGHCOM, Lieutenant Commander? What's that about, you deck an admiral?"

The noncom suddenly realized his breach of protocol and straightened, snapping a hasty salute. "No offence intended, sir!"

"None taken," the officer commented dryly. "Right now I'm too wound up to get any more upset, so… Your court-martial will just have to wait until after mine, provided of course that's what I'm here for. Or, I suppose I could punch you and actually earn a scolding."

The MP looked a bit taken aback by the show of unexpected familiarity. He glanced at his companion, then gingerly handed back the ID. "You're cleared, sir. Head to sublevel 8, room 8A-2. Your single-use clearance is 5913-1. Welcome to Bravo Six."

Getting to the elevator after entering the building required passing through three more blast doors composed of 24-inch thick Titanium-A3, the new standard for armor reinforcement in UNSC construction. The security looked deceptively passive; however, multiple cracks and outlines in the walls hinted at the automated turrets and trip mines awaiting any unauthorized visitors who attempted to gain access. The message was clear: This was a lion's den, and the lion was ready for any unwanted guests.

The officer stepped into the small, brightly lit elevator. A tinny-sounding female voice- the facility AI- confirmed his destination and clearance code, the elevator quietly surging into motion. The only hint of the speed of descent came from the light feeling in the pit of his stomach as the relative gravity inside the elevator dropped. The lift abruptly lurched to a stop, and the doors opened into a dimly lit corridor that seemed intentionally designed to intimidate people entering.

A final blast door at the far end required biometric scans and voice authentication in addition to the standard keycode and ID security. After what felt like hours of verification, the duty sergeant stepped aside and waved him through.

This felt worse than before. This much security shouldn't be necessary for briefing a single officer, even by HIGHCOM. Was this actually a meeting, or just an overly dramatic execution?

The door silently opened into what looked like a cross between a conference room and a cavern, with bright lights shining on the long table in the center and pitch darkness smothering the corners. A single person sat at the far end of the room, with the angle of the light obscuring their features.

A deep male voice echoed from the rear of the room. "Come in, Lieutenant Commander." The doors thudded shut, sealing behind the lieutenant commander as he stepped forward. _Moment of truth_.

The person in the shadows stood and moved into the light, revealing a heavyset, graying man in dress uniform, the insignia of a Rear Admiral glinting on his uniform. The younger officer jumped to attention, snapping a salute. "Sir!"

The admiral nodded, neglecting to return the salute. "At ease, son. I am Rear Admiral Theodore Franklin, and I have been _asked_ to initiate this briefing. I apologize for both the hasty transfer from the _Whippet_ and the excessive security, but it was required by the people who want to see you. They didn't want this meeting to be openly discussed, and I need you to understand that everything said here is strictly off the record."

Franklin paused, looked at his shoes, and then continued, "HIGHCOM is not responsible for this meeting… _another_ branch is involved."

The younger officer blinked. Another branch?

Abruptly, a second voice broke in behind his ear. "Admiral Franklin is referring to the Office of Naval Intelligence. We're the ones who wanted to see you, not HIGHCOM."

The lieutenant commander jumped. He hadn't had the slightest idea anyone was behind him. The new arrival moved to his front- it was a tall woman with dark hair and angular features, in a black uniform. Her insignia marked her as an admiral, and she projected an attitude of silent confidence suggesting power. Franklin straightened, his face twisting strangely. To the lieutenant commander, the older admiral looked uneasy, almost afraid. Who was this woman? Clearly someone with influence- it would take a lot to shake brass as high as Admiral Franklin.

The female officer moved to the center of the room and waved dismissively at Franklin. "You're dismissed, Theodore. I'll take it from here. This is above your pay grade." To the junior officer's surprise, Franklin barely reacted to the snub. His jaw clenched, but he nodded and walked out.

The newcomer turned and addressed the officer. "No doubt you have many, many questions about who I am and what this is about, so let's not waste each other's time. I am Serin Osman, commander in chief of ONI. The purpose of this meeting is…" Osman paused for a second, with an almost amused expression, "…a hiring meeting of sorts. Think of this as an interview for a civilian job. ONI- the potential employer- has a special position that needs filled, and our analysts felt that you had the most… potential to fill it. My time is important, so please sit. We have a great deal to discuss here."

As he took a chair, the officer puzzled over what he had just heard. CINCONI was the one responsible for his summons? Why? So far he hadn't learned a single thing about this meeting; for all he knew, he was about to be shot, though "special position" sounded intriguing, and CINCONI probably tended to avoid the affairs of low-level, insignificant personnel, unless they were on a hit list. The word in the Fleet was that Osman was a more genial commander than her predecessor Parangosky, the latter of whom had held a legendary level of infamy in all branches of the UNSC. He certainly hoped that was the case. _ONI_. Nobody in any level of the Navy trusted ONI- heck, probably nobody in the _galaxy_ trusted them. They probably didn't even trust themselves. And here was their _boss_ sitting across the table from him.

Osman sat for a full minute in silence, looking at him without blinking. Waiting? Perhaps. Possibly just trying to unnerve him. Well. Two could play at that game… He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and stared back. Osman's right eyebrow quirked, as if amused at his boldness.

Abruptly, the admiral broke eye contact, glancing down at a small datapad in her right hand. She spoke at last.

"Adam Trevelyan. Born August 11, 2514, Mira, Circumstance colony. Middle class family, no military background, a few minor family genetics issues previously recorded by health authorities. Average grades in most subjects in elementary school, though exceptional scores noted in history, mathematics, and science. Leadership skills above average, minimal respect for protocol and authority structure bordering on rebellion."

The admiral paused and leaned back in her seat. "Both parents lost during the invasion of Circumstance by Covenant in 2528; following a slipspace drive malfunction aboard the evacuation ship, eleven years spent in cryostasis before rescue.

"Following recovery by UNSC forces, assigned as a ward of the government and enrolled in the Earthrise Military Academy on Luna. After garnering exceptional grade levels, you were assigned to the frigate _UNSC Firebird_ as navigation officer in 2542. Fifteen separate encounters with Covenant, four directly and eleven ship-to-ship, and promotions followed. With leadership and astrogation skills like yours, small wonder, although your conduct was seldom what would be considered tolerable. In fact, the phrase 'near-insubordination' was used frequently by superiors when referring to you. I assume that is why you're still only a lieutenant commander, despite your rather impressive record."

Osman let her words hang in the room for several moments, then continued. "In academy, fellow cadets complained about your informality with newcomers and general lack of adherence to rank and file. You never treated subordinates as subordinates, going out of your way to make friends with lower ranks.

"That didn't matter, I suppose… In spite of your flaws- or perhaps thanks to them- crew morale aboard ships you served with was around fifty percent higher than average, in fact. The frigate _Whippet_ has had the best recorded crew performance in the entire UNSC fleet during your interval aboard it as XO. You have shown considerable adaptability to unusual situations, notably the _Blackfish_ incident in 2544. However, you also violated Cole Protocol during those events and breached forty-five separate safety and emergency regulations; the only thing preventing your court-martial was the fact that you brought back what was at the time our best workable intelligence on Covenant Engineers, or Huragok."

The admiral looked up. "In short, Lieutenant Commander, you've caught the eye of ONI as a potentially useful asset with several unusual qualifications. You possess certain capabilities beyond many fleet admirals, capabilities which are all too rare these days. Many of our best died during the war, and locating fresh talent can be difficult, to say the least. Incompetents like Franklin are littered through our command structure, forcing us to aim low when recruiting."

Osman pivoted her chair, leaning on the table. "Recent… events have shown us the importance of exploring and controlling as much space as physically possible. It's a big, bad galaxy, and we know so very little about it."

She switched to a quiet tone, as if she was sharing in extreme confidence. "You see, no matter what our propaganda machines spout on news channels every day, and no matter how Hood's PR brass spins it, there's a cold, hard truth we don't want to admit.

"That truth is, we exist in a dangerous, untamed galaxy, and we're unequipped to control or even defend against what's out there. We're not kings of the hill; we're not even on the hill at all. We're the little boy who tried to climb it and got a bloody nose for the effort, and now we're trying to climb again, only with a concussion this time. What we need is a new hill, and better tools to defend it. Exploration and appropriation of resources has become a new priority for ONI, and that's where you come in.

"We need taskforce leaders, officers who aren't afraid to bend Fleet rules or cross lines to accomplish goals, and who know how to connect with their crew, maintain their trust in unusual circumstances, and keep them together without oversight or backup. I've just described you, Adam, if this file is to be believed. The question is, are you really the kind of man we're looking for?"

Osman paused and looked his way, apparently expecting an answer; Trevelyan, who had been growing more uncomfortable as the ONI officer spoke, cleared his throat and searched for a reply. "Ma'am, I don't... Well…"

The ONI admiral's eyebrows went up. The officer hurried to finish. "I'm flattered, ma'am, that ONI thinks I'd be such a valuable asset. But I need to be honest- I have no desire for or interest in working with Naval Intelligence. A good leader like you seem to want, well, that and the word _spook_ are mutually exclusive. If you want people who can keep groups together, who can inspire and lead people into danger, you also want people who won't keep secrets and lie to their men, people who've earned their followers' trust. That incident with the _Blackfish_ you mentioned? The only reason I brought anyone back at all was because I took it upon myself to ignore ONI's classification directive and give the crew every detail of our mission after the captain was killed. Turned out that our navigation officer was able to use the information ONI wouldn't give him to successfully jump back to real space without AI support. I earned their trust when I was honest with them. We'd have all died if I had followed my orders.

"To be blunt, I don't feel comfortable taking a position with an agency that looks out for its own interests at the expense of good people. If you're ordering this transfer, Admiral, I'll follow it and work for Naval Intelligence in whatever capacity is required. Otherwise, I'm not going into any command role in which I'm required to be _that_ officer, the one who nobody trusts or likes. Mutual respect and loyalty is the heart of a military; you're only as strong as the _friends_ you work for or with. Working for ONI prevents that kind of trust, and you and I both know it."

Well, there. It was out in the open, and now came the execution, more likely than not.

To his surprise, Osman chuckled- quietly- and smirked. "So, that's it, then- I guess no _spook-fu_ for you, hmm? What a shame… However, you misunderstood me. You'll not be an ONI operative- God knows you'd make a terrible agent. No, your role would be different- serving as a Fleet liaison within ONI, albeit reporting to the Office directly. Old man Hood has been extremely insistent on FLEETCOM involvement in our operations, and placing qualified officers as commanders of exploration vessels would serve as a mutually beneficial compromise. Fleet stays out of ONI's affairs, and ONI offers some transparency in our operations. No dishonesty on your part is required- There's already enough of that to go around here."

Osman stood, pulled a small plastic container out of a front pocket and tossed it towards Trevelyan. "Also, it's clear to me that you consider this an offer. My question was directed towards your abilities more than your interest. This isn't so much a request as it is a commission. You _will_ take command of an ONI exploration taskforce; whether you morally agree or not is your own problem.

"Besides, your little speech answered my question better than a direct answer would have. Talking back to CINCONI was either as stupid or bold as you could have gotten, I have to say. I'm inclined to suspect the latter; don't disappoint me, _Captain_ Trevelyan."

Adam picked up the box and cracked it open- the bars and leaf of a UNSC captain's insignia glinted back at him.

Walking to the door, Osman turned and looked back at the silent officer. "Welcome to ONI. It may not be what you want most, but it's what's required of you.

"You may be better at this than you think… it's in your blood, Adam, more literally than you might suspect." The admiral walked out of the room, and Captain Trevelyan slumped into his seat.


	2. Chapter 2: Addition

**Chapter 2: Addition**

**Bravo-Six facility, Sydney, Earth, January 19, 2558 1122hrs**

THE canvas punching bag quivered and flexed as Commander Karen Whitaker put the full force of her five-foot-eleven frame behind a hard jab, trying to put the weathered-looking thing out of its misery. It had been a frustrating and disappointing day, and abusing the Bravo-Six gym equipment was about the only way to vent. Being stuck as a pencil pusher was like that sometimes.

Sixteen years. Sixteen long years working through the ONI ranks- even longer if her military education was factored in. After all that time and energy invested hoping for a real opportunity, her greatest chance had just been thrown out the window and **glassed**.

Whitaker wasn't a graceful loser, and the letdown she'd just experienced was positively grating on her. Thinking about it made her madder and madder, whipping her into a crescendo of frustrated punching. The bag wobbled, fabric tore, her knuckles throbbed. A faint stream of sand hissed through a rip in the bag. _Wham. Wham. Wham._

"Hey, somebody else might want to use that later… Don't kill it." A voice broke into her train of non-thought, and she spun. A short, heavyset figure in a sweater and jeans slouched against the concrete gym wall, watching her with a bemused expression.

"Want something, Steve?" Karen pulled her gloves off and wiped her brow, shoving a wisp of jet-black hair away from her eyes.

Dr. Steven Malone, her consultant at the ONI communications office, straightened away from the wall and gave her a faint grin. "You doing all right? Heard something was up, word is you stormed out of Osman's office about thirty minutes ago looking ready to commit murder."

Karen didn't grin back, simply glared for a second then tossed her workout gloves at Malone; he ducked. "You know that active command I was in line for? Well, it seems our dear Admiral Osman just went, pulled some random officer out of the Fleet and handed him the post! He wasn't even command-level, just a frigate XO!"

Malone blinked, scratching his buzz-cut red hair. "You mean the _Endurance_? I thought Osman personally promised you that assignment!"

"She did." Karen walked to the corner, grabbed her gym bag and headed towards the door. "I guess that's what I get for daring to hope for too much. Why the backstab? That's what I want to know. And the thing is, it's all off of Fleet records for now, so there's no way I'm finding out through official channels."

The civvie followed her, his shorter legs forcing him to jog to keep up to her rapid clip. "Well, did she explain at all? I can't imagine the admiral usually does things without a good reason…"

Karen spun on her heel and gave Malone a hard look; he took the hint and didn't say another word as they headed up the escalator, past the security desk and down the hall to Karen's office, the door labeled "Assistant Director of Communications".

As Whitaker stalked through the door, Steven hesitated. "Do you… You know… Want me in at the office right now, or…"

She didn't look around, just waved dismissively. "Don't bother, Steve. Just go, I won't need you."

Malone looked hurt, but nodded and headed back down the hall. For a moment, Karen regretted acting so rudely to him- Steve was a nice guy, if a bit out of place. He was on permanent loan to ONI from the New Atlanta University as a linguistics consultant, and had been working with her office for the past two years. It had been lucky for her, landing him as an assistant; Whitaker was quite competent with standard codes, but with the way the known languages in the galaxy had been expanding lately, knowing how to translate effectively was a definite must in the signal intelligence business. She'd heard Malone speak seven languages, two of them alien, and he supposedly knew about nine more. She'd have to apologize to him later, buy him a latte or something. She couldn't stand the stuff, but to Dr. Steven Malone, coffee was nothing short of the essence of life. Whatever.

Karen kicked the door shut with her heel and waved her desk's embedded holotank to life. She swiped towards a corner of the desk and found fifty-three messages flagged for extra analysis by Augustus, the facility's communications AI. Those could wait.

She snapped the display off and sank into her chair, put her feet on the desk and glanced around the office. Not a speck of dust in the corners, a place for everything and everything in its place, the filing cabinets in the corner positioned precisely and in order. All indicators of an organized, disciplined individual with attention to detail, though right now that individual felt set to disorganize it all in spectacular fashion.

The holotank flashed, incoming message. No video or hologram, just plain text. Marked from the office of CINCONI, no less.

_All right, then_. Whitaker took a breath and swiped the message into view.

_To Commander Karen P. Whitaker, ADC ONI Communications_

_CLASSIFIED, EYES ONLY_

_Karen, first off I wish to extend an apology for the abrupt and rather unpleasant meeting we held earlier. There were parties present who were not cleared for the information I'm relaying to you now, and preserving the Office's interests always comes first. This is an off-record message, since right now the _Endurance _is mostly under wraps._

_I understand your disappointment at being denied command of the _Endurance_ for its first run, but I had important reasons. There have recently been severe and potentially catastrophic developments in the outer reaches of UNSC space, currently classified. As such, our timetables have been advanced greatly. The _Endurance_'s first voyage will not be a trial run as intended. It's going to be a full-fledged operation. Accordingly, your initially planned assignment as interim CO is no longer an option and we needed a commanding officer with experience in active command duty, which meant recruiting from Fleet ranks earlier than planned. The new CO has a great deal of expertise in extended single ship operations, which made him a far more viable option._

_Understand, though, you haven't been thrown by the wayside. I'm having you assigned as XO of the ship, effective immediately. There's no promotion in it, but at least you'll be that much closer to the command you wanted. Let me be clear, however: This will be a demanding position. You had better deliver on your potential and give 200% to your assignment. Strong aptitude scores do not a combat commander make, you know. I'll also expect you to keep tabs on Fleet personnel including the captain, do your best to keep them from interfering with Office directives when possible._

_I have spoken to Sullivan to inform him of your transfer; he protested the loss of such an experienced staff member, fancy that. I'll have to drop him a lovely gift basket later to make up for it._

_Report to Rear Admiral Hunt in Personnel department tomorrow at 1400 for assignment details. You'll be meeting Captain Trevelyan on the 22nd for orientation. Keep an open mind towards him, he may very well surprise you. All kinds of diamonds are hidden in the Fleet rough._

_Take care and do ONI proud,_

_Serin _


	3. Chapter 3: Endurance

**Chapter 3: Endurance**

**UNSCDF Air Base Glenbrook, outside Sydney, Earth, January 22, 2558, 0700hrs**

THE shrill whine of idling dropship engines carried faintly across the tarmac as Adam Trevelyan stepped through the high security fence surrounding Glenbrook Air Base. The source of the sound was a single jet-black Pelican parked on the center launch pad, bristling with communications gear and sensory antennae, its identification lights flashing and its exhaust vents glowing faintly in the predawn darkness. His ride for sure. Only ONI would operate such a sinister-looking craft.

_Good morning to fly, at least_, Adam thought, glancing up at the cloudless sky, the faintest hint of pink sunlight appearing on the far horizon and fading to a nearly black shade of blue overhead. A few faint stars still twinkled, likely the MAC defense platforms in geosynchronous orbit hundreds of kilometers above the planet. Manmade lights in the sky were commonplace now compared to the early centuries of spaceflight, when humans across the planet would crane their necks and eagerly watch the faint light of a small space station pass by in the heavens. Humanity had come so far, accomplished so much.

_We nearly lost it all. We're barely hanging on to our place in the stars now, and with so few of us left it'll be hard to restore Earth and the colonies to the way they were before the war. We need every advantage we can muster, so I at least can't fault ONI for their ambitions there, _he mused, watching the glittering lights fade slowly into the lightening sky as he walked.

The sound of engines grew much louder. Adam brought his gaze down to find he had almost reached the Pelican. A figure in uniform climbed out of the rear bay of the dropship, jumping lightly to the tarmac and striding briskly towards him. It was a female officer, slightly built and average in height. She straightened and snapped a precise salute as he approached.

Adam glanced her over, noting details that stood out to him immediately. ONI badge. Rank insignia marked her as a Commander. Uniform straightened and pressed with machine-like precision. Dark hair pulled back tightly, a few rebellious strands hanging down the left side of her face.

Her face stopped his appraisal short. She was looking at him with an expression that, while not exactly hostile, didn't exactly scream neutrality either. Her mouth was drawn into a hard line, and there was a tightness around the corners of her eyes that he found disquieting. It was faint at most, but he made a mental note of it to himself. If she hadn't met him before and was already projecting dislike, however subtly, there was probably some strong motive.

He thrust out his hand to the other officer. "Adam Trevelyan. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Is this my flight?"

She hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment before seizing his hand and giving it a firm shake, her expression remaining hard. "Commander Karen Whitaker, sir. I'll be your XO once you begin your new command. For today, I'm your tour guide."

Adam tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. If she was going to be his second-in-command, determining the cause of her well-concealed antagonism was suddenly a great deal more important. "Tour guide?"

Whitaker nodded. "I'll explain once we're in the air. Get in, we have a long way to go." She turned and climbed back into the Pelican. Adam followed her, inhaling deeply as he clambered onto the Pelican's deployment ramp, pausing to grin at the sight of a small cigar painted onto the side of the dropship, above the faintly stenciled words "Sweet Willy". Fliers everywhere loved giving their beloved craft a personal touch, even under the watchful eye of ONI.

The black Pelican rocketed through the stratosphere, vapor flickering off its trailing edges as it accelerated towards orbit. Trevelyan looked out a small side window at the ocean below, watching it flicker in and out of view through the thin clouds. As the blue sky faded to black and the rattling of in-atmosphere flight died off, he glanced over at his fellow passenger. Whitaker was looking down at a small datapad in her hands, flicking through its contents with an intent expression.

Without looking up at him, she spoke in a low voice. "Captain, this expedition will involve some rather heavily classified material, which you'll need to be familiarized with in less than four days. Accordingly, my duty at present is to provide you with orientation and introduction to all aspects of our mission as quickly as possible. Once we get to the ship, we'll go over technical details; however, I'll sum up the objectives here and now."

She slowly looked up, fixing Trevelyan with an intent gaze. "What do you know about the New Phoenix incident?"

Trevelyan frowned. "Not much. I was on assignment near Presage when it went down. All I know is, a lot of people disappeared, the Master Chief was involved and it was blamed on rogue Covenant. I never bought that story, but I never knew enough about the situation to say for certain."

Karen chuckled wryly. "What happened, Captain, was a bit more outlandish than a handful of Covie factions. It was the Forerunners. Or, to be more precise, one Forerunner with a genocidal bent and one giant ship. It used an energy weapon to empty New Phoenix and battered the home fleet to a pulp. The Master Chief crash-landed on the Forerunner ship and ignited a nuke at its core, which is the only reason anyone is still alive on this planet." She paused to let him ponder that information for a second, then continued. "That was a single ship, Trevelyan. One ship kicked the asses of Earth's best forces and _incinerated_ the population of an entire metropolis within half an hour, and would've continued to the rest of the planet if Sierra-117 hadn't carried out his suicide mission.

"That's why we're exploring, Captain. To find means to defend ourselves, prevent New Phoenix from ever happening again. The goal is to find Forerunner installations, ships, facilities, and anything else that we can take and repurpose. We'll go system by system, scouting for anything we can use. If we're lucky, maybe we'll even find a Halo ring."

Apparently noticing the puzzled look on Trevelyan's face, she snorted. "You don't even know what those are. Of course. We've got a _lot_ to cover, don't we?"

Ignoring the obviously condescending tone in her voice, Adam leaned forward and looked towards the cockpit of the dropship. The Pelican had reached low orbit, and was now slowly climbing towards a small cluster of UNSC ships ahead of it, the sharp sunlight of space glinting off of their metallic surfaces and their running lights flashing brilliantly electric blue.

He turned back to Whitaker. "Which one is ours?"

She smirked. "Which one? You mean of those? Those ships are just our escorts."

Adam's eyebrows went up. "A frigate group escorting a Pelican? Hopefully we'll board one at some point, I don't want to starve before we get wherever we're going."

Whitaker's smirk only grew bigger. "We're ONI, Captain. Everything with us is more than it seems, including this Pelican."

As the tiny craft pulled into the middle of the formation of Strident-class frigates, the four larger vessels began to fire point thrusters and spread out into a spherical pattern. Once a distance of roughly ten kilometers existed between each ship, their lights dimmed as the ships' slipspace engines powered up.

The Pelican's pilot turned in her seat, flipping up the visor on her flight helmet and tossing Whitaker a thumbs-up. "Fleet's ready, powering up for transit! Buckle in back there!"

The lights in the cabin flickered as a low whine began to build in the ship's walls, Adam for the first time paying attention to the odd bulge running lengthwise down the dropship's ceiling.

He leaned towards Whitaker. "Does this Pelican have a slipspace drive?"

"Yes, of course it does. Standard issue for Office transports, Trevelyan. Shinier toys than Fleet gets, I suppose."

Trevelyan wryly grinned as the whine of the Shaw-Fukijawa drive grew to a loud roar. The pilot's voice crackled over the PA speakers, "And we're away. Light is green, Battlegroup Echo."

Outside the windows, space seemed to ripple, Earth's horizon refracting into uneven patterns amidst a haze of violet Hawking radiation as the ship's drive tore a hole in spacetime and it was propelled through into utter blackness.

Between the gas giant Jupiter and its moon Europa, five pinpoints of light flared briefly in the void of space then disappeared as Battlegroup Echo dropped out from the nondimension of Slipspace. The ships, which had started in uniform, evenly spaced formation, had scattered randomly when reverting to normal space. The _Flight Of Fancy _and _Coronation_ had emerged within two kilometers of each other, while _Rainier_ and _Bridge Of The Gods_ were respectively fourteen and twenty-three kilometers separated from the Pelican.

In the cockpit, the pilot and copilot whooped loudly as loud radio chatter burst from the scattered ships. "Pelican Kilo Niner-Three to all ships, we have visual contact. 11K average separation! Most accurate jump this month, Commander." This last observation was directed towards Whitaker, who nodded approvingly, unfastening her safety belt and standing. "These GEN-5 drives are definitely more accurate. Still don't hold a candle to _Endurance_, though." She pointed out the cockpit.

Adam stood as well, and followed her gaze. He was silent for several seconds, then spoke quietly. "So this is what Naval Intelligence has been up to." He eased himself into the cockpit, continuing to stare at the sight ahead.

Seventy-two kilometers ahead, in high orbit over Europa, surrounded by construction platforms, rigging, scaffolding and space station structures, was a single ship. Its sharp-angled edges and elongated grey hull bristling with white and blue lights reminded him faintly of an _Autumn _-class cruiser, but it was far bigger than the largest cruisers he had ever seen. Its massive communications and sensory arrays alone were easily the size of small frigates themselves. The only UNSC ship he'd seen that was larger was the legendary flagship _Infinity_. The rear of the ship was covered in glowing, enormous exhaust ports. Its middle sections were covered with giant, floodlit docking bays, large enough to carry whole ships. It front was bristling with what appeared to be streamlined MAC arrays.

Karen's voice at his shoulder, quiet and reverent, startled him. "_UNSC Endurance_. CVH-224. Our testbed flagship. She's been in the works since the end of the war. Hiding the budget on this one was a real chore, but it was worth it. This is our most powerful ship, you know that? She's three and a third kilometers long bow to stern, she's packing experimental electronics, experimental power, experimental engines, experimental weapons… I don't even know everything she can do, and I've been here watching her come to life for four years."

It clicked then. Adam studied the massive vessel for a few seconds, then looked at the commander. "_Endurance_ was going to be your command, wasn't it?"

Slowly, Karen turned to face him. There was a defiant expression on her face, with a tinge of sadness. "Yes, she was. _Endurance_ is a beautiful machine. There wasn't a ship in the fleet I'd rather have for my first run, and I still feel that way. You lucked into this command, Trevelyan, I don't know why, though I'm sure Osman has her reasons. But let me be clear with you, Captain, since you obviously prefer clear. I'll be watching you, very closely. You screw this up like I suspect you will, you hurt this ship, you'll answer to me for it one way or another."

Adam tensed for a second, then relaxed and flashed a slight grin at Whitaker. "Feel better?"

She stared at him for a second, her face exhibiting confusion then flushing red. "That was out of line. It won't happen again."

Trevelyan held up a hand. "By all means, let it happen again. Bottled frustrations are a toxic drain on morale and make life miserable for everyone involved. You feel like venting, you vent. I don't want mental time bombs among my command crew, especially the first one I meet."

Karen cocked her head, her eyebrows drawn low as she regarded him for a second. Then, a slow, faint smirk spread across her face. "The admiral wasn't kidding. All right then, Captain, if that's how you want it we'll do this your way. Let's show you your ship." She leaned forward, tapped on the pilot's faceplate and made a thumbs-up gesture. The pilot nodded and called out, "Commander has given the go-ahead. Rendezvous light is green, Battlegroup. Let's dock."

**NOTE:**

It has been a LONG time since I last worked on Freefall, but I still wanted to keep it going. This story and its characters have always been at the back of my mind when thinking about writing, and so, months after my last update, I finally have Chapter 3. This is a good deal longer than Chapter 2 was, and is again mostly focused on character development. Things will start happening within the next chapter or two though, and the chapters will probably start getting longer (3000+ words).

Please review, let me know your thoughts and where I can improve! Thanks!


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